The Jedi looked out over the white wasteland and suppressed a sense of vertigo. Hoth. How had he ended up on a backwater planet like this, pandering to some stupid coalition that didn't trust him? Still, he couldn't argue that the Outer Rim was a mess, and who better to help settle it than a Consular of the Order?
"I could have Holiday create a program to make us believe we were on a beach," his companion, Tharan Cedrax, suggested.
"Can she make a parka?" Ful'guralis asked.
"A virtual one," Tharan replied.
"Not likely to keep us warm, is it?"
The scientist scowled. He didn't like it when the Jedi pointed out the limitations of his artificially intelligent holo-girl. What was up with them, anyway? What sort of relationship did they have? Was it... romantic? How did that even work?
The Jedi decided he didn't want to know. Whatever the scientist did in the privacy of his neuro-circuitry was his business. Who was Ful'guralis to judge? He was having his own struggles with the Jedi code, and Tharan was no Jedi.
Not that Ful was thinking of rebelling against the council, mind you. He was not that eager to flirt with darkness. No, he had the utmost faith that their rules were, generally, in a Jedi's best interest. That is, though they may cater to the safest path, they nonetheless were created with good intentions for the well being of a Force-user.
It was just that... lately he'd been thinking a lot about love. Any good Jedi studied the history of the Order religiously. There was so much to uncover, so much to learn. And, despite the rules to the contrary, there was a recurring them that he couldn't quite shale. For many of the Jedi that had fallen to darkness, it was love that brought them back.
It was easy to understand how losing someone close to you could tempt one to anger. From that standpoint, close, loving relationships were almost a burden to a Jedi. The more connections you had, the more ways for a Sith to get at you. Also, caring for someone put them at risk.
Early on in his journey, when he'd been a padawan, Ful hadn't ruminated as much on the code. He simply had too much on his mind to worry about a relationship. The galaxy was a big place, and there was plenty to do. Fatherhood or romance had never been high on his to-do list, not after his own rocky upbringing. More likely than not, any children fathered by him would end up in a shoddy orphanage somewhere, just like he had. Jedi often didn't live long enough to rear children properly. It was a hazard of a life of service, and Ful had known what he was getting into.
Nadia Grell's face bloomed in his mind. The Jedi pushed it away. A shiver danced along his spine. He chose to attribute it to the cold.
Ful'guralis thought of Setele Shan. More specifically, he thought of the parents that were responsible for producing the Grand Master. Or, at least, what he knew of them. It was rumored that they had both returned from the dark side for love. Furthermore, they had left a strong legacy via their progeny. Was a Jedi coupling really such a bad thing when it resulted in such a formidable offspring?
"Are we going to press onward, or simply stand here gazing until we succumb to snow-blindness?" Tharan asked petulantly, snapping Ful from his reverie.
The Jedi raised an eyebrow before inclining his head.
"Oh, goody," the man said, shivering. "Holiday, ready your recording software. This planet promises to positively teem with excitement." He gestured toward the featureless white expanse and shivered. "Perhaps we can overlay all of this with the sound of a crackling fire when we review the footage later."
Ful'guralis rolled his eyes and draped a leg over the nearby speeder. He twisted the accelerator, and took off like a shot, robes - and doubts - streaming behind him.
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